Some things the Gearhead says, with some things I say in return:
“What’s for dinner? If you say Quinoa there’s going to be trouble.” [wife edits: quinoa it is.]
“I miss your cooking.” [wife edits: just to be clear with this one, I cook dinner regularly, almost every evening. I continue to cook from scratch despite the schedule chaos. This little tidbit, sighed almost like a prayer, was in reference to a steak that I seared in a hell hot cast iron pan—a few seconds per side—on a recent Saturday night. Miraculously this didn’t set the fire alarm off.]
This exchange:
“I got my hunting license.”
“I hope you’re prepared to butcher whatever animal you imagine yourself killing. You shoot it, you deal with it.”
“But I thought…” [wife edits: just imagine my expression that arrested this last sentence.]
This exchange, over the telephone, following a day of racing:
“my suspension isn’t set up properly for the rain. The other cars are speeding past me.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“what do you mean?” [wife edits: what part of that question needs explanation?!]
Speaking more slowly: “isn’t that dangerous for ALL the people on the race track? If you’re not going fast enough? If you’re not able to maneuver your car?”
“No, it’s fine.” [wife edits: conversation ended right there.]
If interested, here’s the link for race hero stats
Photo credit: Toyo Tires F1600 Series Championship, link here.
“The boy who won the race this weekend is fifteen.”[wife edits: I refuse to repeat the words that tumbled from the gearhead’s mouth into the virgin ears of our daughters. Let’s just say he had the balls to suggest they hook race track brats, marry rich, and solve all our (read: his) problems. I’m now looking for the bluntest knife in the house with which to create a eunich.]
And then this dancing gem of a compliment, volleyed when I walked in the door after a long work day: “what kind of Lithuanian-airlines-stewardess outfit is that?!” [wife edits: As myzti savo kavos rytoj ryte tada. Google translate. I’m trying to make these posts interactive. Out of desperation.]
Some things that Goes to Eleven (child #1) says:
“she’s got Alzheimer’s.” [wife edits: Yes readers, she was referencing me while I drove she and a friend (limousine style for Christ’s sake!) home from a birthday party.]
“quit it with all the grammar and punctuation in your texts!” [wife edits: we were driving home from swim practice. I replied that I don’t use punctuation in my texts. She said, “really?” and proceeded to read aloud all the texts I had sent her the previous three days,
enunciating all the punctuation marks I had inserted. They included: commas, periods, quotation marks, colons, ellipses, exclamation points, question marks and even a semi-colon. Grammar-wise my text crimes included: capital letters for all pronouns, proper nouns, and starts of sentences; writing full sentences; using conjunctions; avoiding acronyms; and of course, using punctuation. Okay, I admit, tears were streaming from my eyes (laughter) at having been proven incorrect with my self-assessment, but really, punctuation is the guide we use to let people know how to read the missing tone, the intakes of breath, the emotional impact of our written words! It’s like, like…if you were to read a piece of music, the notation on the page would allow you to recreate the sounds the composer originally put to paper, instead of the cacophony you would come out with otherwise. This fell on deaf ears.]
“Come here!”“Go away!”“Come here!”“Go away!” [wife edits: this is how we do math homework. Cue the tears and screaming (and that’s just me). Maybe I should get some emoticon signs made up for math homework instead of all these loud exclamation points.
Child #2 made these meringue kisses for her class. One [sweet] antidote to maternal bitterness
Some things child #2 says:
“It’s my birthday in a couple of weeks. Have you bought me any presents?” [wife edits: shit. Has it been a year already?]
“I’m going to be thirteen.” [wife edits: shit.]
“can I have a sleepover party?” [wife edits: shit.] “Sure, how many people are you thinking?” “Six, no, seven, plus me of course. Mom don’t look at me like that.”
No recipe this post folks; I’m afraid it would only involve a corkscrew and a cocktail shaker. I’m fairly certain you’re intimately familiar with the tools of the trade. Cheers!
Food by the Gearhead's Wife 
Oh, Suzanne, this one’s a rich stew of life. I really believe that each musing is a collection of small, poignant insights (this one has a minimum of nine). May I be so bold, and greedy as I’d like one per week, to suggest a test formula of: 1 photo + 1 life snippet each week, and obviously far less punctuation;) And how about you post through Twitter or Instagram and I promise I’ll follow slavishly. Enjoy Victoria Day weekend with its fresh asparagus, greens, rhubarb…love spring!
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Thank you Andrew. It’s wonderful to know they’re being read. Will try to take up your challenge…it seems possible. Know that in all the off weeks I’m working on other creative writing projects , submitting, hoping to be published (and read). No luck yet.
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Oh, and hey, stop being so stingy with the recipes. Life is funny but food is yummy. I look to you for inspiration and to add a new perspective and context to our seasonal bounty. What should I do with rhubarb this weekend? Ok, ok, I know what you’re thinking. A cocktail. (maybe a rhubarb fizz!)
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Rhubarb goes beautifully with pavlova. But also with sparkling or vodka. My sister’s visiting from BC, so maybe all three this weekend.
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Andrew, this weeks recipe is mine, when in a trailer freezing your ass off at Mosport and looking to make a fast lunch I discovered that frying mushrooms in coffee dregs with butter is amazingly tasty…also the 15 year came in second- a 19 year won -all the 50 somethings find it amusing that the 15yr old cant even drive himself to the races- the gearhead….
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at the risk of sounding shallow…it sounds like life is pretty normal to moi…fortunately or unfortunately for the gearhead and his family (yes including his wife).
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